


The Revenant

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Kodos - Freeform, M/M, Tarsus IV, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Revenant: one that returns after death or a long absence.</p><p>This story is dedicated to Alice Nox, whose story, Broken City; I couldn’t get out of my mind, even a year later!  Special thanks to Wingstar and Painted Bird for talking me off the cliff.</p><p>Jim Kirk had all but forgotten Tarsus IV and then his nightmares began, estranging Spock and everyone he holds dear.  Are the nightmares merely flashbacks or is there something more sinister?  This story is a metaphor for alienation, loss, and fear.  Originally, the challenge was to make something interesting of the episode, Spock’s Brain.  Well, it clawed its way into something else.</p><p>Warnings for non-con, underage and rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginings

Chapter 1

He ran through the rain drenched streets, the pavement channeling a rush of water that carried dead leaves, scraps of plastic, and the ominous pieces of things once alive. He felt like flotsam, swept away by the rain into gutters that swelled with trash and debris. The runoff and the weight of trash and litter rushing by sounded like the shuffling of feet.

The sound of his footfalls on the pavement was a steady rhythm, contrasting with the sizzle of falling rain. Glass crunched desperately beneath his feet and the wind whined as it whipped past the corners of the abandoned buildings. He panted, his breath steaming the cold air around him. Terror outstripped his body’s ability to run.

He stopped at the entrance to an alley, well aware of being trapped with no escape route. He folded in half, trying to catch his breath. When he straightened, his stomach churned. He wasn’t given to visions or fanciful daydreams. The mystical held no interest for him. But there was something, a presence, a vibration that held him in place.

Abruptly, his head snapped in the direction of a sound, a broken cry coming from the end of the alley. He danced in place for a moment, adrenaline pumping. It didn’t sound like them. It was an echo of something or someone still alive.

Reluctantly, he started down the narrow alley. At the very end, wedged between broken bricks and rubble, was a bundle of fabric, no, clothes, no, a moving body. He knew the chances were slim the being under the pile of rags was unchanged. If he or she was infected, just one scratch could kill him. 

He was a stupid, if brave boy. If there was a possibility someone else had survived, he had to help. The loneliness was almost worse than the fear and hunger that stalked him every minute of every day. A touch, a human voice, a moment or two of sharing the unbearable burden of staying alive would be priceless. And there was something else, a tickle in the back of his mind. 

There are moments in time when one realizes that the surface of events is merely a surface, under which are many layers. In these moments, there is wonder. This was one such moment. There was a truth, a revelation, a mystery, weighty and profound. He knelt next to the filthy pile and whispered, not words exactly, he’d lost those to fear and pain days ago, but comforting sounds. He pulled the cloth back and revealed the being, curled into himself.

There was a charge of electricity in the air when he touched it, as if it was a projection of all he had ever dreamed of, all he had ever wanted. He couldn’t stop himself from drawing back the soaked debris, to reveal what was beneath.

The dirt smeared face was uncovered and he realized it was a boy with a slanted brow and pointed ears. He reached out a tentative hand to touch a shoulder and ignored the boy’s flinch. Finally, the boy opened one brown, glazed eye. For a second, hope dawned.

He rocked back on his heels, leaving his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The boy pushed himself up to a sitting position, braced against the broken brick wall behind him. He cleared his throat a couple of times, trying to free his trapped voice. Finally, with a cough, he spoke.

“You are unchanged. How is this possible?”

Jim found his own voice at last. “I have been hiding for days, no, maybe a week. What about you?”

“My family locked me in a safe room, I emerged forty-eight point two five hours ago. I was aware there was something untoward happening but I did not know what.”

Jim laughed mirthlessly. “Untoward, that’s an understatement.” He stood and offered his hand to the boy. “I’m Jim Kirk. Welcome to Tarsus IV.”

The boy reached up and took his hand, holding his left arm tight against his chest as he levered himself to his feet. Only an injury to his arm, then. He could still run. 

“I am Spock.”

“Well, Spock, we need to get out of this alley. There is a warehouse down the street that should get us out of the rain.”

“That sounds eminently logical, Jim.”

\--

Jim woke with a start at Spock’s voice coming over the COMM, chasing away the cobwebs of his dream. In typical Jim Kirk fashion, he sprang to his feet, relegating his reoccurring nightmare to irrelevance as he pulled on his uniform and quickly ticked through a mental list, half listening to the chatter of disembodied voices broadcast over the Enterprise’s communications systems. He left his cabin, pausing at the threshold, the tendrils of the dream, no, nightmare holding him briefly before he headed to the Bridge. 

\--

Spock tipped his king and pushed back his chair with a sigh.

“Another game, Jim?”

Jim smiled. “Actually, I was thinking we might turn in.” He reached across the desk and grasped Spock’s hand, still holding his bishop. Spock didn’t pull away but his hand tightened on his chess piece. Jim saw tension suddenly appear in his posture.

“If you wish, Jim.”

Jim dropped Spock’s hand and sat back. He frowned and Spock could easily read the hurt in his eyes. He reached for Jim only to have his hand torn from his grasp.

“If I wish? What about you, Spock? What the hell do you wish?”

Spock closed his eyes, gathering himself. It was to be this argument again, Jim pushing, Spock withdrawing behind his well constructed walls. It was tiring and he was ill suited to negotiating the Byzantine path Jim’s emotions would take next.

“I simply meant to convey . . .”

“Convey that it is only me who needs this intimacy Spock? To remind me that you hold all the power? That you can hide behind your Vulcan mind rules?”

“Kroykah! It is enough, Jim. I will not argue with you about this tonight. You are well aware of my regard for you, of my . . . desire for you. Do not belittle it because you do not understand that to be with you, I must overcome years of training and socialization.”

Jim’s voice turned waspish. “Ah, the great sacrifice . . .”

“Do. Not. Do. This. It is no sacrifice, as you well know.”

Jim silently studied his partner. Nothing touched him. It was cause for admiration but also jealousy. Spock was almost impossible to draw. Of course, that made Jim want to even more. It was a game to him. A regrettable game that Jim knew he was playing too often. But hurting Spock brought Jim closer and he craved that closeness like nothing else.

Jim saw something in Spock’s expression slip.   
He reached both hands toward Spock. Spock placed his on top, the tips of his fingers grazing Jim’s wrists. Spock’s hard Vulcan shell cracked. This was what Jim intended all along. 

Much later, as Spock lay trembling in his arms, sharp pheromones soaking the air, Jim whispered soft words and thrilled at Spock’s gasps and grasping hands. He pulled and pushed at him, his passion sending Spock into an emotional freefall that only Jim was able to elicit. 

\--

Captain’s Log, Stardate 5419.4: Personal and Confidential 

We have been ordered to Starbase 12 to meet with the Delitri and negotiate a trade agreement regarding mining rights in this sector. It is not a particularly challenging assignment and honestly, I am finding it difficult to concentrate on the details. Fortunately, in addition to Ambassador Renn, we are joined by his counselor, Francis Kinnaman. They are thankfully taking the laboring oar in these negotiations, which seem endless.

Jim grabbed a cup of coffee out of the conference room replicator and looked around. They were on break and Jim knew he should be chatting with the Delitri, but didn’t have the energy for it. He had a headache and he was still unnerved by his argument with Spock the night before.

He knew he was being defensive about their relationship but he felt he was being pushed away. Jim was terrible at maintaining relationships. He was usually the one to break things off the minute he thought his partner might be getting too close. Spock was the first who made him want more, need more. If Spock didn’t want him, well, what did it say about Jim?

He took a sip of the now luke warm coffee and grimaced. Looking around the room, he caught Counselor Kinnaman’s eye. She winked at him. Jim smiled warily and glanced away. He really didn’t want to engage her. There was something about her that put him off.

Of middling age, she had a long hatchet face and deep-set blue eyes. She seemed dour and stiff until she opened her mouth . . . Her voice was low and heavy with a touch of girlish sweetness. When she spoke, half the room stopped to listen.

Jim had an inkling that he’d seen her before. He didn’t understand why she made him uncomfortable and attributed it to exhaustion, or boredom or his disagreement with Spock. He couldn’t say.

The chime sounded for negotiations to begin again and Jim was seated between the Ambassador and one of the Delitri spokesmen.

Ambassador Renn cleared his throat and began in his typically pedantic way. “Gentle beings, if you would open file number 2246, paragraph 48 (b) 12.08, you will note that the trilithium ore rights on . . .”

Jim let his mind wander while appearing to give the PADD his full attention. He would make it up to Spock, tonight if possible. He wouldn’t try to draw him or pressure him. They would spend a quiet evening playing chess. Nothing more. He’d make it perfect.

He was startled from his reverie by Counselor Kinnaman reaching across the table and tapping his PADD to bring up the correct page. Jim flinched away from her touch. This clearly surprised her.

Damn it! What was it about that woman that spooked him?


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Chapter 2

Jim and Spock slipped undetected into the abandoned warehouse on Avenue 8, traveling up debris-clogged stairs to the third floor. The roof had failed at some point during the bombings and rain poured through holes. Fortunately, there were intact walls near the elevator well. They were able to make a nest of sorts, from furniture cushions and paper, enabling them to keep warm and dry. There was no food of course and neither felt safe drinking the rainwater. It was unclear what was contaminated by the virus and what was not. 

The creatures had appeared two weeks ago. Thousands of beings had died over the last few months, some to starvation and deprivation, some to execution. Some had disappeared. This left corpses unburied, there were simply too many to deal with and honestly, Governor Kodos and his people had stopped trying to maintain some semblance of civility. The great experiment had clearly failed and there was a taint of madness on the remaining bureaucracy.

The first time Jim saw a creature, he was walking by the open pits where the corpses lay, covered in lime to speed the decomposition and mask the smell. Desperate and starving, Jim was quite capable of robbing the dead. He began to remove the boots from a mostly intact body, when it began to move. Initially, he thought it was gasses bloating the corpse. When the creature sat up and reached for him, he started running. He hadn’t stopped until he came across Spock.

Jim and Spock huddled together for warmth, curling around one another, bracing against the crumbling cement walls. They both eyed potential escape routes should the creatures find their lair. Finally, exhausted, without even realizing it, the two boys drifted off to sleep, perhaps for the first time in days.

Jim woke abruptly. It seemed like minutes later, when in fact it was probably hours. The creatures’ distinctive wail drifted up through the stairwell, freezing him for a moment in terror. His heart stuttered as he listened to the moans of the mindless creatures, blindly searching the bottom story of the warehouse for food. 

The creatures would wander endlessly in circles until they caught the scent of a living being, any living being, cat, dog, bird, humanoid, only insects, unless they were in sufficient number to consume, were safe. Once on a scent though, they were relentless, never stopping until they either were destroyed or found their prey. 

Jim felt Spock wake beside him; eyes shuttered against the dawn. He shuddered, pressing against Jim’s shoulder for comfort.

From what Jim had seen, the creatures couldn’t see or hear, only their sense of smell remained. Jim cursed the rainwater that might bring their scent to attention as it pooled at their feet and fell in a torrent through the ceiling and walls around them. He could only pray it didn’t pick up any biological markers that would alert them to their presence.

Jim’s eyes swept the blasted room, noting the two staircases, one impassable from the bottom with debris but the way clear to the roof. If the creatures made their way to their bolthole, the roof was the obvious escape route. They could travel the roofline almost indefinitely, but then, so could the creatures, which cared little if they fell and in fact, would survive such a fall and keep hunting on broken arms and legs.

The shifting and shuffling continued. Each vocalization caused the boys to tense and brace against each other. Finally, the sounds slowed and grew farther and farther away. The creatures had moved on. He relaxed against the Vulcan boy, slumping at his shoulder and turned his head to study him. 

Spock’s eyes were closed in the dim light, dirt streaking his pale face, which was bruised and scraped from living rough. Occasionally, his lips moved as if praying. 

Jim envied him that. The Gods had all but abandoned him, long before the creatures had come to be with their voracious and terrifying appetites. He’d been alone, abandoned, left to survive however he could. There was a cold emptiness within him that was almost as horrifying as the creatures themselves. All that remained was his minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour survival, and this injured disheveled boy beside him. Jim swore to himself and pulled Spock closer. He might have been left behind, but he would not leave this being to the same fate. They would come through this together or not at all.

\--

Spock dug hard hands into Jim’s shoulders, fighting for purchase against his sweat-slicked body. Each thrust was punctuated with a gasping breath. Jim felt Spock’s cheek graze his, his lips murmuring almost soundlessly, words of desire and passion in a language surprisingly rich with such vernacular. 

“Love you. Love you.” Jim’s litany followed each stroke as Spock gripped his hips possessively. Spock was tightening all around him and within him, rocking to an internal rhythm that pulled Jim up and out of himself, so tied to his lover his mind stuttered and blanked. When the moment came, Jim’s mind blurred into Spock’s, a torrent of love and unmatched desire flooding every corner of his body. 

Then, Jim heard a broken sound, so soft he almost missed it. As if from a million miles away, his consciousness came roaring back as he grabbed Spock’s neck and pulled his long body sideways across his chest, cradling the tremors that overtook his overwrought lover.

“Hey, hey, Spock. You’re OK.”

Spock nodded and rolled onto his back taking Jim with him, legs impossibly tangled. He buried his nose in Jim’s sweat damp hair and sighed. 

“I am sorry, Jim. It is difficult.”

“I am the one who should apologize. I meant for us to have a quiet, uneventful evening and look what happens.”

“If I recall correctly, this was my idea.”

Jim chuckled and rubbed the back of Spock’s neck. “I know. But I don’t want you to feel pressured. I don’t want you to leave me.” Jim stopped, biting his lip. He had just slipped.

Spock tiredly levered himself up onto an elbow and looked down at Jim. He gently pushed a damp curl off Jim’s forehead and reached down and kissed his temple. “I will not leave you, Jim. Surely you know this.”

Jim touched Spock’s cheek with his fingers, stroking the long line of his jaw and the sweep of his brows. “I don’t. I should, but everyone leaves eventually.”

Spock frowned. “I am not everyone. Who has left you, Jim? Who hurt you that you that you are so afraid?”

“A story for another time, my friend.” Jim pulled Spock back down onto his shoulder, indicating that the conversation was over.

Spock listened as Jim’s breathing slowed into sleep. Something was bothering him. He was restless and irritable. His nightmares growing worse. Spock’s telepathy experienced them as ghostly tendrils, bits and pieces of pain and terror. He vowed to determine their cause. He would find out, eventually. 

\--

 

Spock joined Jim, transporting down to Starbase 12 to coordinate resupplying the Enterprise. Jim took this as an excuse to delay attending the latest rounds of negotiations. Commissioner Tam met them. He was a rotund barrel of a man, who oversaw the starbase with genuine good humor and common sense.

“Hello, Ben!” Jim grinned as he took the Commissioner’s beefy hand. Benjamin Tam was one of his favorite people, at least on this starbase.

Ben returned his greeting with a crushing handshake. There was no answering smile. Jim noted this curiously and introduced him to Spock.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Spock. I’ve heard a great deal about you. I don’t suppose you have a clone we could borrow for the next few weeks? We could use your organizational skills with these negotiations.”

Jim stopped smiling. “Few weeks? I thought we’d be here another few days. What’s going on, Ben?”

Ben shook his head and escorted them to his offices, making small talk. Jim could tell he didn’t want to say anything more until they were behind closed doors.

The door to the Commissioner’s office opened and Ben gestured for them to enter and take a seat in the pleasant room. Jim admired the large window looking out at the dock. The Enterprise hung in space like a jewel. Jim never missed an opportunity to admire her. 

Spock glanced over at Jim’s rapt expression, suppressing a smile. His Captain was wholly predictable when it came to his ship.

“A drink, gentlemen? Jim, I know you’ll want a brandy. Mr. Spock, some water perhaps?”

Jim took the brandy, shaking his head. “Am I going to need it?”

Ben handed Spock a glass of hot water and sat down heavily behind his desk.

“The thing is, Jim, Admiral Salvatore, that malicious bastard, just advised me that the negotiations will continue until a treaty is devised. Unless another Constitution class starship which happens to be the Federation’s flagship arrives to bail you out, you are stuck.”

Jim leaned back in his chair and frowned. After a moment, he took a large sip from his brandy and slammed the glass on the desk. The Commissioner jumped.

“No, damn it! No! The Admiralty can’t tie us up like this indefinitely. Why would they even consider it? Salvatore isn’t an idiot, he knows we are expected on Walden’s Planet to run a geological survey.”

Spock added, “And may I point out, Sir, said survey has been postponed twice over the last solar year. It would be illogical for the Admiralty to overlook an opportunity to assess Walden’s Planet as a mining base, especially in light of these negotiations.”

The Commissioner threw up his hands. “You are preaching to the choir. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, Jim, but I need the dock for some freighters coming this way.”

“I do not understand, Commissioner. Surely your dock can accommodate the Enterprise and four freighters of varying size.”

“Well, Mr. Spock, it’s like this. It isn’t that the Enterprise takes up too much room, it’s her presence at all.”

“What Ben is trying to say is that certain freighters might be scared off by Star Fleet’s . . .”

“I am aware of the illegal shipping in this sector, Captain.”

Jim and Tam exchanged amused glances. Doubtlessly. 

There was a soft ping at the office door. Tam threw Jim a questioning look and leaned over releasing the locking mechanism. His secretary knew not to disturb them unless it was absolutely necessary. Jim continued. “So since this benefits none of us, why are we here?”

A low melodious voice answered him. “Because I requested it. I requested the Enterprise specifically. And you Jim, I asked for you.”

The door closed, sealing Francis Kinnaman inside.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dawn streaked the sky over the Colony. The sun broke through the clouds briefly, almost blinding Jim with the brilliance of the light and water still streaming down the sides of the buildings.  He shaded his eyes against the glare and glanced at Spock, for the first time getting a good look at him in the morning light._

_Spock turned toward Jim, eyes questioning.  Jim could see he was beautiful, not in the sexy sultry way of some youths he’d seen plying their wares on the Colony for a mere meal, but aesthetically, cleanly, as though his features had been thought out and molded just for clarity.  And his eyes . . . Jim met those curious brown eyes and felt something snap inside._

_He shook his head and looked out on the broken cityscape. This was a dream, no a nightmare of Jim’s making. This felt real but was just a product of his mind. He was trapped with Spock who was his Spock and not and the memories of Tarsus IV, wrapped and pulled apart by his subconscious. The fear, the discomfort, the absolute disconnect from reality was accurate.  The creatures, though, were not.  They had never been part of the terrible reality of his last days in the colony.  They represented something but he couldn’t quite reach the inner core of his memories and determine what. All Jim knew was that this reality, right now, imaginary or not, was the only reality he had._

_Jim grasped Spock’s elbow, not taking his eyes off the horizon. “Time to go, Spock.”_

_Spock studied Jim’s face.  “Where must we go?”_

_“We have to get out of here.”_

_Spock frowned.  “We are safe here, for the moment, at least.  It would be illogical to endanger ourselves by changing locations.”_

_“No, Spock.  If we stay here, we won’t be safe.  Not really.  This is a trap.  We have to get off this damn planet.  You shouldn’t be here.  I shouldn’t be here.”_

_Spock nodded slowly; understanding Jim as though he too, had made the leap and knew this wasn’t reality, their reality._

_“Very well.  Then logically, we should start there.”  Spock pointed to a group of buildings in the near distance, surrounded by asphalt and concrete.  “The spaceport.  Surely not all of transportation has been destroyed.”_

_Jim shook his head, regretfully.  “No, the colonists overran it before the plague started and the creatures started becoming. But, Governor Kodo’s enclave, perhaps.”  Jim turned and pointed toward the east and the dawn.  “There.  See the dome?  That cluster of buildings?  Kodos would have kept an escape route open.  If there is transportation off the planet . . . “_

_Spock looked at Jim sharply.  “How do you know he didn’t use any such vehicles himself?”_

_“His mansion was overrun early.  You could see the fires when this began.  You could hear the screams.   It was almost as if the creatures were sentient and wanted to exact revenge for what he’d done.”_

_“Jim, what did he do?  What did he do to you?”_

_Jim made a soft sound in the back of his throat.  “Took away my childhood.  Come on.”  With that, Jim grabbed Spock’s arm and pulled him up to the rooftop._

 

\--

 

After the impromptu and aborted meeting with Counselor Kinnaman in Commissioner Tam’s office, Spock had desperately needed to meditate.  He had been forced to reschedule his own meeting with the Starbase 12 purser in order to make sure his enraged Captain returned to the _Enterprise_ in one piece.

 

Once in his cabin, Spock quickly lowered the lights and lit T’shun incense.  He didn’t bother to change into his robes, but knelt on a small cushion and lit the firepot.  He gazed deeply into the flames and tried to process Jim’s illogical reaction to Counselor Kinnaman.

 

The minute she addressed them, Jim had jumped to his feet, every muscle bunched and tense as though ready for a fight.  Furiously, he challenged her.

 

“What gives you the right to hold us here?  What game are you playing?”

 

Her response had been mild by comparison.  “Jim, we need the _Enterprise_ , we need you.  You are essential to our success.”

 

Jim spat back.  “I’m no diplomat.  You don’t know me.”

 

“Ah, but Jim, I do.  I know you and what you are capable of.  I’ve seen you in a crisis before.  Surely, you remember.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“Jim, I was on the _USS Socrates_.  We were the ship that liberated Tarsus IV.”

 

A very tense silence had followed her revelation.  Commissioner Tam turned to Jim in disbelief.  “My God, Jim, you were on Tarsus?”

 

Jim turned to Tam, his lips a thin angry line.  “This meeting is over.”

 

Jim strode angrily to the door, completely ignoring Kinnaman, who moved aside to let him pass.  Spock followed on his heels, a quick glance of apology to Tam.  As he passed Kinnaman, he’d sensed an air of satisfaction, as though this had gone exactly as she expected.

 

Now, Spock stared at his firepot through slit eyes, the smoke stinging his eyes and throat.  Counselor Kinnaman’s presence would certainly account for Jim’s restlessness and irritation.  There was something missing in his analysis though.  Keeping the _Enterprise_ locked up at Starbase 12 was illogical.  If Kinnaman had something to do with it, her intentions were suspect.  Spock sank deeper into meditation in an effort to understand what was happening.

 

\--

 

Jim sat alone in the Mess, staring sightlessly at what might be his lunch.  When Leonard McCoy, his Chief Medical Officer sat down beside him with his own plate, he acknowledged him with a grunt.

 

“Good day to you, too, Captain.  I can see you are your usual pleasant self.”

 

“Stow it, Bones.”  Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced in pain.  McCoy itched to grab a medical tricorder but resisted temptation in favor of good old fashion doctoring, which involved listening to the patient.

 

“Still having trouble sleeping, Jim?  Spock snoring again?”

 

Jim fiddled with his fork and glared at the doctor.  “No, Bones, just a restless night.”

 

“Bad dreams?”

 

“You’re fishing.”

 

“And catching nothing but flies, now Jim . . .” McCoy was interrupted by the rattling of silverware and the scrape of a chair. It grated across Jim’s nerves. 

 

Spock sat neatly as a cat across from them, unfolding his napkin carefully.  “Am I interrupting, gentlemen?”

 

“Hell, no, Spock.  Just tryin’ to figure out why the Captain here, looks like ten miles of bad road when all we’ve done for one week is negotiate a trade treaty with the Delitri.”

 

“All we’ve done?  Now, Bones, let me tell you . . .” Jim was sputtering.

 

“Doctor, as you well know, the trade agreement is very delicate and complicated.  That, in combination with the delay is certainly likely to cause a stress reaction in humans who, if I recall . . .”

 

“Damn it, Spock!”  Jim’s voice was loud in the noisy Mess and the room fell silent.  Jim continued more quietly, irritation coloring his voice.  “I can fight my own battles, you know.”

 

“Of course, Captain, I only meant to . . .”

 

“I know what you meant Spock, now hear me, I don’t need you coddling me.  I don’t need you protecting me from the likes of him.”  Jim’s chin was down and he flicked a thumb at McCoy.  “And you,” he turned to McCoy, “Stop meddling.  I don’t need it or you right now.”

 

McCoy was stunned and glanced quickly across the table at Spock whose face had gone white and rigid.

 

“Jim, that is uncalled for.  The doctor was . . .”

 

“Enough!”  Jim slammed both hands down on the table and began to rise.  The conversation around them that had been slowly building to a normal level went silent yet again.

 

McCoy’s blue eyes sparked.  “Report to my office at 1400 hours today, Captain.”

 

Jim stood and grabbed his tray full of half eaten lunch and stalked to the recycler.  He slammed his tray and dishes into the receptacle and walked stiffly out of the Mess, his shoulders tight with anger.

 

McCoy was silent for a moment, staring at his hands.  When he looked up, he noticed Spock was gazing intently at a point over his shoulder.  His expression, usually unreadable, looked pinched and exhausted, dark circles staining pale skin.  He clasped his hands on the table in front of him and his knuckles were white.

 

“What the hell was that about, Spock?”

 

It was a moment before Spock answered.  “I do not know.  The Captain had a disagreement with Counselor Kinnaman earlier.  Evidently, she is the reason we are ordered to remain here until the negotiations are concluded.”

 

“Blast Star Fleet politics!  I wonder who she had to cozy up to in order to hold the _Enterprise_ here?”

 

“Unknown.  I suspect her presence is causing a worsening of Jim’s nightmares.”

 

“She’s a cold one but I can’t see her haunting his dreams.”

 

“Would it change your analysis if you knew she was one of the humans which rescued Jim and the other survivors on Tarsus IV?”

 

“Oh, Jesus.  What kind of nightmares is he having?  He won’t tell me a god damn thing.”

 

“I cannot be completely sure, they sometimes bleed over, fragments, broken pieces.  He dreams of a broken city and creatures who stalk him who wish to eat his flesh.”

 

McCoy sat silently for a moment, processing what Spock had revealed.  “You know, Spock, that kind of dream usually indicates there was a lot of trauma associated with the event.  We’ve both read the reports, no doubt Jim went through too much for a boy that age, but why would it come to the surface now? Kinnaman was part of a rescue team.  It doesn’t make any sense!”

 

“You are correct, Doctor.  It is illogical, unless we do not have all the facts and Counselor Kinnaman is not what she seems. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serious warnings for non-com. Run if it is a trigger.

 

_The Governor’s compound was deserted, as expected.  Jim and Spock circled the perimeter slowly to conserve their strength.  If the creatures spotted them, they would make a run for it.  They moved silently, really having nothing to say to each other.  The night before, they had talked themselves out, not so much as planning their escape, but rather bolstering each other’s courage._

_Jim had been surprised to discover that Spock had volatile emotions, ranging from anger and fear to tender memories of his parents, buried deep in childish perceptions of growing up a half caste on a xenophobic world.  Spock found Jim to be a cipher, willing to skate the surface of facts and events, telling amusing tales of triumphs and disappointments but going no deeper than a thumbnail’s sketch.  What had happened to him on Tarsus IV was never spoken of._

_As they explored the compound, Spock never ranged far from Jim’s side, watching him and his body language constantly for any insight.  His sharp eyes caught fleeting expressions of desolation and desperation flashing across Jim’s face, along with a bone deep determination to get them away, off the planet and out of the nightmare he’d threaded into both of their minds._

_When they arrived at a hanger on the north end of the compound, both noticed the stinging scent of burning debris and something else.  Jim pointed wordlessly to a smoldering heap in front of the wide metal door.  Spock’s raised both eyebrows in shock when he realized that the pile contained the bodies of several creatures, still writhing in a parody of life.  Torsos disconnected from limbs twitched, arms and legs flexed, scorched almost beyond recognition.  Virtually all of the creatures had been decapitated, faces frozen in a rictus, grimacing as if they felt unquenchable hunger._

_Ringing the burning bodies were the carcasses of animals, mostly birds, but also a few cats and the creatures that resembled dogs on this world. They had been poisoned._

_“Somebody survived to do this, Spock.  Those creatures didn’t just walk into a bonfire and cut off their own heads by themselves.”_

_“Granted, but who and where are they?  And Jim, note the condition of the animals around the creatures.  The virus didn’t infect them.”_

_“No, but when they tried to eat the creatures, it did kill them.”_

_“Fascinating.”_

_Jim turned and looked at Spock, affection clearly written on his face and gestured toward the hanger door.   “Let’s see what is behind Door #1.”_

_Spock frowned in confusion, “Jim, the door is not numbered 1 or any other designation.”_

_Jim barked a laugh and then quickly lowered his voice.  “I know, I’ll explain later.”  Grabbing Spock by the upper arm he led them in a crouching run, skirting the burning bodies in a direct line to the door.  Spock noticed with ill concealed horror that a few of the limbs twitched in their direction, perhaps sensing the vibration of their movement across the tarmac._

_Spock filed that additional information away as they found themselves outside a metal door, locked with a security panel. It had no lights, indeed, likely no power at all._

_Standing as flat as possible against the doorway, Jim looked at the locking mechanism skeptically.  After a moment, “Ideas, Spock?”_

_“One.”  Spock grabbed the edges of the panel covering the security panel and pulled, one foot on the wall for leverage.  He was rewarded by the sound of failing metal.  A couple of yanks and twists, the panel opened revealing old fashion microchips and the stench of burning ozone._

_Spock stepped back and glanced sideways at Jim.  “Would you like to do the honors?”_

_Jim bowed mockingly and reached in, deftly pulling out unfamiliar chips set in a very familiar way.  With a hoarse creak, the metal hanger doors began to lift.  Jim cursed and reset a switch, stopping the tall doors a meter off the ground.  Even that was too much if any of the creatures were still around. Shrugging, he gestured for Spock to follow and shimmied under the partially opened door._

_The interior of the hanger was dim and dusty.  The walls and metal benches were crowded with tools.  Spock’s survey stopped at Jim’s low whistle.  In the center of the hanger was a Starfleet shuttle, a bit battered but clearly intact.  If it was functional, they had hit pay dirt._

_Jim started toward it unaware of the sound coming from a dark corner.  Spock’s superior hearing picked it up immediately.  Echoing on the concrete floor, it was the sound of someone limping or dragging his leg.  Spock’s worst fear was realized when two of the creatures stepped out of the shadows._

_They were both in bad shape. Burns covered most of their faces and bodies, so severe that Spock couldn’t immediately tell if they had originally been male or female. One wore a jumpsuit that had clearly been Starfleet at one time while the other was dressed in scraps of what seemed to be the Governor’s uniformed guard._

_“Jim!”  Spock’s voice was higher pitched than he intended but successfully wrought an immediate response from Jim.  He turned, backing away, never taking his eyes off of the shuffling creatures.  Spock was rooted to the spot, an instinctive fear and repulsion making it impossible to move.  He willed Jim backward so he could seize his arm and they could flee.  Almost within grabbing distance, the unthinkable happened.  Jim caught his feet in some conduit lying on the ground.  Wind milling his arms, he fell backward, almost but not quite at Spock’s feet._

_Jim’s fall woke Spock to action.  He reached his fallen friend just as Jim began to lever himself up to a sitting position. Spock noticed the creatures had picked up their pace, no doubt scenting their prey.  With his injured arm and Jim still shocked and off balance, they didn’t have enough time to flee before the creatures would be upon them._

_Already, the smell of putrefied flesh was strong, Jim was gagging and Spock was becoming light headed.  One of the creatures raised its arm, sightlessly pointing at the two boys and began to wail._

\--

 

McCoy reflected that it was a good thing he and Jim had been friends for so long.  By the time Jim made it to Sick Bay, they’d fallen into their familiar pattern where they both pretended there had been no disagreement whatsoever.  McCoy knew it was a form of denial but realized that neither one of them functioned well when they were at odds.

 

Jim lay down on the bio bed in Sick Bay, arms folded.  Doctor McCoy batted at his hands and Jim obediently placed them at his side, sighing.  McCoy ran a series of scans and Jim could hear and feel the vibration from the mechanical humming, reminding him vaguely of last night’s nightmare.  The nightmare was just uneasy wisps of memory now, the specifics lost.  All that was left was a sense of danger, of foreboding, of loss.

 

McCoy interrupted his reverie as he shut off the scans with a snap of a switch.  “Well, Jim, I won’t say you are as fit as a fiddle, but you’re at the low end of optimum efficiency.”

 

Jim grabbed the side of the bio bed, prepared to escape, but was caught by McCoy’s hand on his arm.

 

“You are marginally fit for duty, physically.  Mentally and emotionally, that remains to be seen.  Get dressed and meet me in my office in ten minutes.  We have . . .”

 

“Damn it, McCoy!  You said I was fine.  I have to check in with the Bridge and see where the Delitri are in reviewing the trade agreements, I . . .”

 

“You will do no such thing.  I’m sorry, Jim, don’t make me turn this into a medical order.”

 

Jim bit back his response and began to dress, a sour expression on his face.

 

Eight minutes later, he was seated across from McCoy’s desk, holding his breath.

 

“Alright, Bones, spit it out.”

 

McCoy frowned and stood, walking to his ‘secret’ cabinet. He returned to his desk with two small glasses and a bottle of Saurian Brandy.  He had an idea about how to set about asking Jim about his nightmares.  A direct approach wouldn’t work. 

 

As McCoy poured, Jim asked:  “Are we celebrating something, Bones, or are you just trying to get me drunk so I’ll tell you my secrets.”

 

McCoy paused, bright blue eyes pinning Jim in place.  “What secrets, Jim?”

 

Jim waived his hand dismissively, intentionally casual.  “You know, eating chocolate pudding at midnight, skipping my work out with Giotto, sleeping with my First Officer.”

 

McCoy snorted.  “No secrets to me.  But let’s talk about Spock for a moment.”

 

McCoy watched Jim tense across from him.  “What about him?”

 

“I can’t help noticing he’s worried about you.  Oh, not in a hand wringing, mopey way, but in that Vulcan, ‘I have some concerns’ way.  And, I have also noticed you’ve been pretty hard on him recently.”

 

Jim looked like he was going to interrupt, so McCoy raised his hand to stop him.  “Now, I know you two are as capable of fighting, no, disagreeing, as the next couple, and god knows, I don’t want to hear any details, but it seems to be bleeding over into your professional lives, and that becomes a problem.”

 

Jim bristled, his voice tight.  “I hardly think our ‘disagreements’ are within the purview of the Chief Medical Officer.”

 

“It is if it affects the performance of duty.”

McCoy took a deep breath and pushed Jim’s untouched brandy closer to him.  “Look, if you talk about what’s eating you, it will help.  Spock is so anxious and stressed all the time, he doesn’t care about his vaunted privacy, so spill.”

 

McCoy waited, studying his Captain as he finally took a sip of his brandy and made a face, gasping.

 

“Oh, Bones, it’s been a while!” Jim croaked and wiped tearing eyes.

 

“Maybe you should do it more often, Jim.”  McCoy took a swig out of his half empty glass without wincing.

 

“Right, Bones.  Here’s the thing.”  Jim put down his glass and leaned over the desk.

 

“I know there is something wrong.   There is a wall between us.  I try over and over and it’s so god damn hard to engage him.”

 

McCoy grimaced and poured himself another drink, topping off Jim’s glass.  “As much as I want to ask you why it took you so long to realize he’s a god damn Vulcan, I mean, really, Jim, I’ll spare us both.  What I really want to know is if you’ve noticed a change, recently.”

 

Jim cradled his glass, contemplating the amber liquor.  “I don’t know.  Maybe he’s more resistant.  Maybe I just don’t know how to reach him anymore.”  Jim looked up, stricken.  “I feel like I’m losing him, Bones.  And I can’t lose him.”

 

McCoy sat back in his chair.  “Have you talked to him?”

 

“Not really.  We’ve fought about it a few times.  That doesn’t count.”

 

“What does he think the problem is?”

 

Jim ran a hand through his hair tiredly.  “He thinks I’m pushing him too hard.  Bones, I’ve done everything I can think of to make him comfortable with our relationship.  He hides behind Vulcan mind rules and socialization. So, what if I am wrong?  What if having a personal relationship with my First Officer is affecting my command?  What if it is destroying our friendship?”

 

“That’s a lot of ‘what ifs’, Jim.  Maybe you should ask yourself what you expect from your relationship?  Ask yourself if Spock is really the issue.”

 

“You are suggesting that I’m the one with the problem.”  McCoy watched Jim’s shoulders come up and tense, ready for a fight.

 

“Now, Jim, don’t get defensive.  Look at both sides.  Spock’s got the emotional empathy of a rock, except when it comes to you.  If he’s pulling away, it might be in response to you.”

 

Jim’s eyes blazed.  “It’s always me, isn’t it?  I’m the one who can’t maintain a relationship, is that what you are saying?  It couldn’t possibly be Spock.”

 

“No, Jim!  That’s not what I’m saying.  Stop trying to deflect.  You’re the one who is suddenly having these nightmares.  Did it occur to you that your problems with Spock, your nightmares might be something else entirely?   Maybe you are having flashbacks to Tarsus IV . . .”

 

McCoy’s mouth shut with a snap.  The second the name came out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake.   Jim went blank, his earlier anger disappearing behind a mask, a wall just as impenetrable as Spock’s mental shields.  

 

Jim nodded, his gaze far away.  As he got up to leave, McCoy placed his hand on Jim’s sleeve.

 

“Jim, don’t go, let’s talk about this.”

 

Jim was half way out the door and glanced over his shoulder.  “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

McCoy stared at the closed door thoughtfully.  Spock was right, Jim was in serious trouble.

 

\--

 

One of Spock’s skills was research.  He employed it in the privacy of his cabin to find out more about the mysterious Francis Kinnaman and her relationship with his Captain.  He tapped his stylus against his lower lip, frowning at the computer monitor.  So far, he had come up with very little.

 

Fact one:  The _USS Socrates_ had indeed been the first Federation vessel on the scene when Tarsus IV had gone silent.  Fact two:  A Lieutenant Francis Kinnaman had been on board and was mentioned in the logs as one of the first people to transport down to the planet.  Fact three:  There was no physical identification of her anywhere in Star Fleet records. It was as if her files had been wiped clean except for her name.  Fact four:  It was five days, fourteen hours and six minutes before the _Socrates_ requested additional help after discovering the situation.

 

Spock had been involved in many rescue efforts.  Even allowing for the fact that the circumstances on Tarsus IV had occurred over twenty years ago, the delay in requesting additional aid was suspect.  The famine, which swept the Colony, had completely wiped out their food sources.  As the Colony was designed to be self sufficient, once the food was gone, they would have depended on trade to survive.  The fact that none of the traders were aware of the famine, despite the alleged communications from the Colony, was unlikely in the extreme.

 

Spock was not inclined to guess but he could speculate.  Clearly, Governor Kodos had not sent out pleas for relief on Federation channels.  It was likely that certain unsavory traders had known about the famine and continued to provide just enough food for the Governor and those he deemed fit to survive. 

 

The _Socrates_ may or may not have been in on it.  It was a small Marklin class ship.  The ship had been decommissioned almost immediately after the incident, the crew dispersed.  Captain Rose retired and disappeared off the grid.  Spock found it interesting that the Captain and crew were not available for the subsequent hearings.  The only testimony given was by the seven survivors who’d actually seen Kodos and could identify him, one of which was a very young Jim Kirk.

 

This brought up the question of why.  Why did the famine occur?  Was it biological terrorism as some speculated?  Why did Kodos wait so long to request aid and when he did, why wasn’t it on Federation channels?  Who would gain from this tragedy and more important, who covered it up?

 

Spock shook his head.  He had another source of information he could plumb but he needed to exhaust the Federation database first.

 

He was startled out of his rumination by the sound of his cabin door opening.  Spock was surprised to see Jim storm in, crackling with energy.  He stood immediately, blanking his monitor.

 

“Captain?  Is there something I can do for you?”

 

Jim said nothing.  His face was tight with tension, his fists clenched at his sides.

 

“Jim?”

 

“How could you?  How could you tell him?  This is your fault!”

 

Spock was puzzled and therefore unprepared for Jim’s roar of pure rage.  His eyes widened as Jim rushed him, pushing him backward into the cabin’s metal partition.  Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard.  Spock tried to bring his hands up to defend himself; he was strong enough, after all.  Seeing Jim’s expression though, he kept his body language passive.  Whatever Jim needed to do, Spock would allow, such was the nature of their relationship.

 

Jim turned him violently. His face was pressed into the metal partition. Spock felt Jim’s moist breath against his neck.  So this was what it was to be.  Spock tried to relax, repeating in his mind that Jim had no ill intent.  It was difficult to retain equanimity when Jim ripped his uniform trousers from his body and spread his thighs with a sharp knee.

 

Spock tried not to tense when he felt Jim touch him.  This was not his lover who fingered him.  This was not the passionate man whose pleasure was circumscribed by his partner’s response.  This man pushed digits inside him without preparation.  This man pushed and prodded for his own pleasure, no, anger.  When Jim breached him, Spock winced and forced himself to respond to his mate.  His eyes stung from the pain as his body responded to Jim’s thrusts.

 

“God, you little whore.  You want this.  You deserve it, you fucking bastard.  It’s your fault.  It’s all your fucking fault.  Take it. You like it.  You’re just a little . . .”

 

Spock half heard Jim’s whispered invectives.  He had never before heard those words from Jim’s mouth.  He knew instinctively that these were not Jim’s, but the words someone else had spoken, long ago.

 

Part of Spock cried for Jim’s pain, leaching across his skin like a cloud.  Jim hated himself, perhaps he always had.  Right now, his self-immolating rage was directed at Spock, who was willing to take it if it would grant Jim even a moment of peace. 

 

Soon, Jim finished, his semen dripping down the back of Spock’s thighs.  Released, finally, Spock sunk to his knees and turned, his back against the partition. 

 

Jim was white, his mouth opened and closed as though to say something.  There was a moment when his hands began to reach for Spock, his face twisted in regret and agony.  His eyes settling on Spock’s face, shifted away in self-loathing.  He left Spock on the ground without a backward look.

 

Spock sat against the wall for a while, trying to ignore his pain and the discomfort of fluid, whether blood or semen he wasn’t sure, escaping his body.  Finally, he used the partition and desk to stand unsteadily, gazing with disbelief at the closed door.  He hurt body and soul.  This was not Jim, his Jim. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but he was determined to find out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we begin to get the idea of who Francis Kinnaman is and see some parallels between Jim's dreams and reality.

 

Chapter 5

 

_Spock managed to get both hands under Jim’s arms and leverage him shakily to his feet.  Jim covered his ears, trying to block the creatures’ soulless keening. They walked backward until both were pressed against the hanger’s gray walls.  And still, the creatures came._

_The first creature reached them, its hands grasping for Spock.  Spock grabbed it by the wrists and tried to push it away as its soft flesh gave way in his hand, sloughing off bones with a wet sound.  Spock was surprised at how light the creature was and used his foot to send it spinning to the ground, nearly tripping the second creature._

_This gave the boys precious time.  The creatures weren’t quick, they’d taken too much damage.  Still, they were terrifying, their faces frozen in a parody of a smile._

_Jim and Spock separated and headed at a run toward the shuttle.  The creatures were confused, blindly bumping into each other, heads swinging, trying to catch their scent.  This gave the boys enough time to pick up some weapons.  Jim seized a crowbar off a bench and Spock grabbed a short handled shovel.  Backs to the shuttle, they waited._

_The creatures stumbled toward them, shifting and staggering.  Jim and Spock moved away from each other to get enough room to swing their improvised weapons.  The creature reached Jim first.  He swung hard, the crowbar impacting the creature’s head with a wet sound.  It went down, silently collapsing into itself, twitching.  Jim swung again and gagged as the creature’s head exploded like a ripe melon. It wouldn’t be getting up again._

_Jim turned to Spock who held the shovel defensively, trying to keep the other creature at bay.  Spock seemed unwilling to strike at it.  Jim knew this was a fatal tactic._

_“Damn it, Spock!  Kill it!”_

_Spock shook his head, his aversion to taking life, any life; even one as perverted as the creature, was an anathema.  Jim moved behind the creature, ready to take the creature off its feet with the crowbar.  The creature caught his scent and spun faster than Jim imagined it could.  He reached for Jim, hands curled into deadly claws._

_That was enough for Spock.  The threat to Jim spurred him into action.  He swung the business end of the shovel at the creature’s neck, neatly decapitating him.  The boys stepped back as the creature fell to the floor, its extremities spasming like a puppet with its strings cut._

_Jim rested his arms on the crowbar like it was the only thing holding him up.  When he finally had the energy to look, Spock was leaning against the shuttle, shaking. Jim dropped the crowbar with a clatter and stepped quickly to his friend’s side._

_Spock raised the shovel defensively, eyes unfocused.  Jim spoke to him quietly and gently, like he was a wild animal._

_“Easy there, Spock.  Put the shovel down._

_Spock shook his head.  “Jim.”  His whisper was full of pain.  Jim looked down as saw long scratch marks through Spock’s torn sleeves.  They were green and already mottled as the virus made it’s way into his system._

_“No!”  Jim grabbed Spock’s arm, pushing up the sleeve.  He was infected.  It was only a matter of time before the creatures’ poison began to turn him._

_\--_

McCoy wasn’t exactly sure how he got roped into yet another reception for the Delitri. He and Spock had beamed down in Jim’s stead.  Jim was barely speaking to him after their last conversation in Sick Bay.  McCoy wanted to ask Spock about it but he’d been looking so rough the last couple of days, he hated to add anything to his plate.  Today was the worst.  McCoy swore Spock looked bruised, mind and body.  Something was terribly wrong and he couldn’t figure out what to do about it.

 

He plastered a smile on his face and toured the large conference room reluctantly, trying to avoid conversation and trying to find some real alcohol.   He was mostly successful. 

 

Gazing out the conference room’s windows, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.  Counselor Kinnaman cleared her throat and smiled at him. McCoy tried not to flinch away from her touch. 

 

McCoy was a pretty good judge of character.  His initial impression of Kinnaman was that she was good at her job.  As her interactions with the _Enterprise_ became more prominent, McCoy came to the regrettable conclusion that she was too good at her job. 

 

Ambassador Renn treated her with kid gloves.  Commissioner Tam tried to never make eye contact with her.  These were two men who were arguably her superiors.  Now, Jim, he actually ran from the room.  McCoy wasn’t able to figure out what Spock thought, what ever it was, he was keeping it to himself.

 

Kinnaman held out an elegant hand and grasped McCoy’s firmly.  “Good evening, Dr. McCoy.  It is a pleasure.”

 

McCoy dusted off his best southern drawl in response.  “Yes, ma’am.  How are the negotiations going?”

 

“Well, Doctor.  We seem to be making progress, though not quickly enough for your Captain, it seems.”

 

McCoy cocked his head to the side and grinned.  “Now, that Captain of ours can git a mite impatient when there are worlds to tame.”

 

Kinnaman’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “We need him and the _Enterprise_ here.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about that, ma’am.  I’m just an old country doctor.  Why don’t you tell me why it’s so all-important?  Might help the Captain to be a bit more receptive.”

 

“I think the Captain will figure it out in his own time.  I suspect . . .”

 

They were interrupted by Spock, stopping stiffly in front of McCoy.  McCoy noticed he looked pale.  That was never a good thing.

 

“Doctor, I apologize, but you are needed on the _Enterprise_ immediately.”

 

McCoy frowned.  Why hadn’t someone com’ med him?

 

“What’s it about, Spock?  A broken fingernail?”

 

“Doctor, I assure you . . .” Suddenly, Spock’s eyes rolled back and he dropped like a stone at McCoy’s feet.  Whipping out his communicator and demanding an emergency beam out, McCoy’s last impression was a smug smile on Kinnaman’s face.

 

\--

 

Jim angrily made his way to Sick Bay where Spock had been admitted after collapsing at the Delitri reception.  He was furious with himself and ashamed.  Most crewmembers stepped aside when he approached, easily reading his body language.  The Captain was just and tolerant most of the time but his hair trigger temper was well known. 

 

Jim burst into Sick Bay just as McCoy was adjusting the monitors over Spock’s bio-bed.  He walked to his bedside and stood over his lover for a moment, taking in his haggard face.  A quick glance at the monitors revealed a fever, higher than Vulcan normal. 

 

Jim remembered clearly what had transpired between them and inwardly cringed in horror.  Spock was more than capable of defending himself against Jim.  Jim could never do anything that Spock hadn’t tacitly agreed to.  The mere fact that Spock had submitted to him was telling.  Telling about how much their relationship had sickened and weakened.  If Jim had caused Spock’s injuries in any way, well, he doubted if he could live with himself.

 

Jim looked away from his unconscious First Officer and at McCoy.  McCoy nodded and gestured with his PADD toward his office.  Jim followed him in uncomfortable silence.

 

When the door closed behind them, McCoy spun and said, “What the hell is going on, Jim?  Why would anyone do this to Spock?”

 

Jim shuddered and played for time.  “Do what, Doctor?  You’re the doctor, you tell me.”

 

McCoy slammed his PADD on his desk and crossed his arms belligerently.  “Why would anyone poison him?  We are in the middle of trade negotiations, for god’s sake, and . . .”

 

“What!  He was poisoned?  By who?”

 

“Blast it, that’s what I’m trying to find out!  Someone slipped him Shatarr venom.  Damn lizards produce enough toxins to kill half of ShiKahr. Fortunately for us, it’s only active if consumed and for some reason, Spock didn’t consume much of it.  I have Starbase Security searching the reception area as we speak.  Thank god Spock wasn’t hungry or he’d be dead.”

 

“Poison.”  Jim covered his mouth with his hand, eyes faraway.  Suddenly, his eyes came into focus and he looked at McCoy sharply.  “A slow acting poison.  One we might not catch for a few days and is hard to trace?”

 

“Yes, Jim.  How did you know?”

 

“If I wanted to keep the _Enterprise_ docked at Starbase 12, if I wanted to delay our next mission which is to conduct a geological survey setting up competing mining operations to the Delitri, if I wanted to sideline the most likely person to figure out a conspiracy, I would use a slow acting poison on the _Enterprise’s_ First Officer.”

 

“Holy mother of god.  You think the Delitri did this?”

 

“I don’t know if blame can be laid on their doorstep but I’d bet good credits it was done on their behalf.  It feels like we’re in the middle of a giant chess game and the opposing side just stole my queen.”

 

McCoy rolled his eyes.  “Don’t worry, Jim.  We’ll keep the ‘queen’ locked up tight in Sick Bay.  He should be safe enough.  You go and find out who did this to him and then drop him off in Sick Bay.  I’d like to take a shot questioning him myself.”

 

“Him?  Or maybe her.”

 

“You think Kinnaman has something to do with this?  What is it with you and that woman?”

 

“Are you saying she couldn’t have done it?”

 

“Of course not.  I’m just trying to figure out how or why a low level counselor would try to poison your First Officer.  I know you two have a history, but she has no interest in . . .”

 

“Bones, she does if she isn’t what she seems.  I’ll be honest.  I don’t remember her from the _Socrates._   I remember her from Tarsus IV.  She was Kodos’ right hand man. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give this a review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consider this fair warning. References to non com and underage rape. Not described but if this is a trigger, avoid anything past the italics.

  
  
Chapter 6  
  
 _Spock fell to his knees, still clutching the shovel.  He bowed his head in defeat.  Jim would have to kill him before he changed into a creature, ravenous and raging. Locked in this nightmare, at least they were together.  This was no longer possible._  
  
 _Jim pulled the shovel out of Spock’s hands and laid it aside.  He knelt beside Spock and took him by the shoulders, shaking him gently._  
  
 _“Spock, no.  Whatever you are thinking, no.  We stay together.  You will not crawl away and die.  I forbid it!”_  
  
 _Spock raised his arms and pulled back the sleeves of his tunic, exposing more of his infected arms.  The infection caused tiny capillaries to break, making his pale skin look like flawed marble._  
  
 _“Jim, I will not leave. But you must understand.  You must kill me before I change.”_  
  
 _“Don’t be ridiculous.  I need you.”_  
  
 _“You only need to survive this nightmare, Jim.  You can do that without me.  You do not need me, you never have.”_  
  
 _“What?  Of course I do!”  Jim’s voice rose.  “You’ll give up on me, just like that?  You’re going to lock yourself away because you are afraid?  Come on, Spock.  That’s a familiar excuse.”_  
  
 _Spock dropped his arms and rocked back against the shuttle.  He closed his eyes, lest Jim see his pain._  
  
 _“I have never been afraid, Jim, except of hurting you.  Please let me go.  I cannot bear the thought that I might endanger you.”_  
  
 _“Damn it, Spock.  Even if you’re right.  Even if you are dangerous, don’t you understand that it’s worth it?  I refuse to live half a life and that’s what it would be. You’re the best part of me.  You can’t tell me you don’t understand that, Vulcan or not.”_  
  
 _Behind Spock’s closed eyes, he saw all the pain and betrayal between them.  It would be so easy to slip away in this nightmare.  He could already feel his body weakening.  But was this a pattern, a familiar excuse, designed to force Jim to declare his feelings, over and over because Spock could not?  Had he been withholding himself all this time?  If he were honest, it was a possibility.  If it was true, he’d been hurting Jim for no reason other than his fear of his own emotions._  
  
 _Spock sighed and opened his eyes.  Jim’s face was that of a boy but his expression was that of the determined lover he knew well._  
  
 _“I do understand, Jim.  I understand better than you know.  I will stay with you for as long as it is safe to do so.  You have my word.”_  
  
 _Jim rocked back on his heels and grinned.  “Well, then.  Let’s get the shuttle open and see if we can get off this rock.”_  
  
 _Jim helped Spock to his feet and turned to examine the shuttle door.  “If we want to keep hull integrity, you probably shouldn’t try to pry off the panel.”_  
  
 _“That is unnecessary since the panel seems to be powered.”  Spock gestured to the lights blinking dimly when he passed his hand over the sensors._  
  
 _Jim thought for a moment, fingers hovering over the panel and then tapped in a series of numbers and letters.  The shuttle door obeyed and opened slowly.  Jim turned to Spock and smiled._  
  
 _Spock tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.  “What code did you use, Jim?”_  
  
 _“Well, since this is my dream, I used a fail safe code.”_  
  
 _“Ah, 1,2,3, a, b, c?”_  
  
 _Jim chuckled as he bounded into the shuttle and turned to help Spock in.  Spock was pale and feverish so Jim led him to the front of the shuttle and urged him to sit down at the communications panel._  
  
 _“See what you can do with this, Spock.  I’ll check the ship to see if there is anything here we can use.”  Jim really wanted to see if there was anything they could use as first aid.  Spock was obviously in pain._  
  
 _A few minutes later, Jim emerged from the small cargo bay with a couple of Star Fleet issue phasers and a first aid kit. He heard Spock’s sound of dismay.  Making his way to the front of the shuttle, he took a seat beside Spock and placed his finds on the command console._  
  
 _“Well?  Can we fly this thing?’_  
  
 _“No.  There is power to the automated systems, but from what I can determine, the shuttle is dead, Jim.”_  
  
 _Jim sat back in the chair.  “Well, damn.”_  
  
 _\--_  
  
  
Assured that Spock was stable for the moment, Jim went to his cabin, hoping to rest.  Thanks to his yeoman, his bed had been set to rights, the linens changed, the room aired out.  Still, the cabin smelled like Spock. The bed radiated a warm musky scent Jim had come to associate with his lover.  
  
Jim sat on the edge and pulled off his boots.  With a sigh, he lay on his back; hands clasped on his stomach and stared at the ceiling.  His mind traveled the facts and events of the last few days, pulling each memory out, examining it, and returning it to its proper drawer.  
  
Assuming his suspicious were right, the Enterprise was being delayed at Starbase 12 on purpose.  The geological survey on Walden’s World was the only upcoming assignment they had that might have an impact on the Delitri negotiations.  If Walden had accessible trilithium, it would definitely impact the value of the Delitri deposits.  The Federation still needed the trade treaty with the Delitri, if only to prevent them from aligning themselves with the Klingons.  But if another source of trilithium was nearby, the Delitri would no longer have the power extreme wealth would bring.  They would be marginalized.  Add to that, others, including the Klingons, would appreciate uninterrupted access to Walden.  
  
Admiral Salvatore might or might not be in on it.  It was not unheard of for Star Fleet Admirals to be paid off for sending ships on certain assignments or in this case, taking them off.  Of course, he would have to have help.  Jim hated to believe that Ben Tam had anything to do with it but as the Commissioner in charge of Starbase 12, he would be very capable of feeding information to both the Admiralty and who ever wanted the Enterprise far away from Walden’s World.  But he wasn’t in the position to influence the negotiations.  That required some one else.  
  
There were a million ways to stall a negotiation.  By their very nature, they were easy to derail, just add a line to a treaty and you might well add another week to the discussion.  Other than the Delitri, whose grasp of Federation politics was weak at best, only Ambassador Renn and his Counselor, Francis Kinnaman were in a position to influence the trade agreement.  Renn could have been bought, many diplomats were.  But although arrogant, he seemed to lack the deviousness necessary to pull off something of this magnitude.  That left Francis Kinnaman.  
  
She was very savvy and well versed in the treaty.  She was charming; developing relationships with both the Delitri and the Starbase staff.  She knew the sector, understood the technology of mining trilithium, and potentially had contacts outside the Federation.  She was also not who she said she was.  
  
Jim’s memories of his rescue from Tarsus IV were vague, to say the least.  He hadn’t even been conscious when he was found.  He recalled waking up in the  _USS Nightingale’s_  Sick Bay, having been transferred over from the  _Socrates_.  His physical condition required critical care, something the  _Socrates_  couldn’t provide.  He didn’t remember a Lieutenant Kinnaman on either ship nor did she testify at the hearings on the famine months later.  
  
He did remember, quite clearly, the woman everyone called the Angel.  Her face was engraved on his memory for eternity.  A face that looked exactly like Francis Kinnaman’s.  
  
Jim had been too young to understand the political and financial dynamics of Kodos and Tarsus IV.  All he knew was that one day they had food, the next, they had none.  One day he was living on a farming co-op with his Aunt and Uncle and cousins, the next he was struggling to survive on the streets.  
  
When Kodos’ guards rounded up the children, it was a relief. Kept in a warehouse, the children were clean, mostly fed, and reasonably safe from the food riots outside.  Every few days, a heavily guarded woman would come to visit, bringing treats, toys and games.  She spoke to the children kindly, tending injuries, ingratiating herself.  They called her the Angel.  
  
A couple of times a week, she would take some of the children away to new homes.  She told them their parents were waiting for them there.  None of the children doubted the Angel and were eager to go with her when she came for them.  Of course, the children never returned.  
  
Jim finally became one of those children and he was ashamed to admit, he was happy to leave the warehouse and its grinding hunger behind.  
  
Unknown to Jim, his destination was Governor Kodos’ enclave.  The Angel was kind to him, right up to the point that she delivered him to the Governor’s office.  She stayed, smiling slightly, while Kodos raped Jim.  She took the crying boy away after, leaving him in a cell.  Jim saw her every once in a while when she brought him food and water.  
  
Jim had never forgotten the pain and trauma of those days with an increasingly unbalanced Kodos.  But he had recovered physically and emotionally.  He had, at least, until he saw the Angel again.  Initially he assumed he’d made a mistake, perhaps she really was the officer who rescued him.  But after a few days, every ounce of his being screamed that she lied, as she done then.  Kinnaman was the Angel.  He had no doubt.  
  
All that was left was to prove it.  Jim had no doubt Spock had already looked into it.  Closing his eyes, he dug the heel of his hand into his forehead, fighting a headache.  As soon as he rested, he would check Spock’s computer.  Jim would find out the truth, regardless.  
  
\--  
  
She had gone by many names in her lifetime.  Her parents had named her after her grandmother.  Her lover, Anton Kodos, called her Angelica, after the ancient Earth painter.  The children on Tarsus IV dubbed her simply the Angel.  She had gone by Francis Kinnaman for so long, she had almost forgotten the others.   
  
She had no friends, no family left.  All she had were her memories and a promise made long ago that when asked, she would prepare for Kodos’ return.  She had been contacted and all that remained was to make sure everything was ready.  
  
She had one more task to complete before he arrived; to erase all evidence on the  _Enterprise_ that pointed to her and Kodos.  She had attempted to access the main computer from every source.  There was one stand-alone system she couldn’t reach, not even with Admiral Salvatore’s command codes.  It would have been easier to hijack the ship and fly her into a star than hack Mr. Spock’s computer.  
  
She had had full run of the  _Enterprise_  for weeks.  With Spock in Sick Bay, there was no one to stop her from seripitiously entering his cabin and trying a more direct approach to hacking his computer.  She gave the cabin brief attention, ignoring the ancient weapons and art on his walls.  She had no interest in him or his culture.  He was merely a means to an end.  Once she accessed his files, she would have to kill him – finishing the job she’d started. Captain Kirk would be next.  
  
The thought of Jim Kirk’s death distracted her for a moment.  He had been a favorite of Kodos’ and the only one of them to survive.  She’d been jealous of his pretty face and lithe body.  As Kodos descended into madness, he’d craved the innocents more and more.  There were times when he actually thought he was saving them.  Jim was special, stronger and more resilient than the others.  She flushed thinking of what she had observed in that small cell.   
  
Kodos had always returned to her in the end.  When the unfortunate situation finally played out, the  _USS Socrates_  had dropped her lover off in a well-populated system, and Francis Kinnaman was born.  She laid parsecs of false trails, and insured the crew of the  _Socrates_  was either paid off or killed.  
  
Now, it was time for Kodos to return.  He and his daughter would stop traveling the system, hiding behind masks and plays.  She would give him Walden’s World, a planet so rich that he could create his own and live on beside her as if they had never parted.  He would be coming within a week or so.  She smiled at how surprised he’d be, how proud that she had not only protected his existence, but insured his future.  It would be glorious.  
  
The mad glow faded from her eyes as she touched Spock’s monitor.  Her hacking skills were legendary but this was a challenge.


	7. Chapter 7

 

_The shuttle was dead.  So would they be if they stayed put.  Jim glanced at Spock’s flushed face and rummaged around in the first aid kit.  He found aspirin and antibiotic cream and handed them over.  The silence between them grew until Jim became uncomfortable._

_Abruptly, Spock’s head came up and he looked at Jim.  “Batteries.”_

_Jim frowned, convinced Spock was hallucinating.  “What batteries?”_

_“Jim, the shuttle operates on batteries.  If we can find a way to recharge them, we should have full power.”_

_“But a charger runs on power.  There is no power in the compound.”_

_“Perhaps there is.  We need to find a generator. Most generators run for decades.  Logically, the compound should have power.  It must have been disconnected or damaged.  But it would be our best chance.”_

_“Spock, you are in no condition to wander around the enclave looking for a power source and I’m not going to leave you here alone.”_

_“I have no intention of wandering around.  The power source would have to be nearby to recharge the shuttle’s batteries.  We have only to find it.”_

_Jim tapped his chin with his fingers.  Of course, it made sense.  The danger was obvious though.  They’d be exposing themselves to the creatures again.  Spock seemed to anticipate his argument._

_“I will go and you must remain here.  I have already been infected whereas you have not.  I will . . .”_

_“No.  You are not going alone.  We do this together or not at all, remember?”_

_Spock’s expression clouded.  “I remember.”_

_Jim shoved the first aid kit at Spock and looked pointedly at the aspirin.  Spock swallowed several dry.  He stood and handed a phaser to Spock.  “There’s a door at the back of the hanger.  We can start there.”_

_Spock nodded and awkwardly tucked the weapon into his waistband and followed Jim to the shuttle door.  Jim tripped the opening mechanism and leaned out, assessing the scene.  Only the creatures they had already dispatched were in view, crumpled on the floor of the hanger. Jim gave one a shove with his foot as he descended the ladder, turning to help Spock.  Spock waved him away and cocked his head, listening.  Vulcan hearing was a distinct advantage._

_“All clear, Jim.”_

_Jim pointed to a door set in the featureless metal wall at the back of the hanger.  He grabbed his discarded crowbar and walked quickly toward it.  They listened at the door for a moment and hearing nothing, opened it, revealing a long dim hallway, cluttered with debris and litter.  Spock heard a rustling and halted, drawing Jim with him with a touch on his shoulder.  The rustling came from the end of the hallway where the light was brighter indicating some kind of power source.  They headed toward it silently._

_The light was coming from an open door.  They paused outside, flattening themselves against the wall.  Jim took a breath and peeked around the door jam._

_The interior was lit just enough for Jim to make out a figure sitting at a metal desk going through sheaves of paper.  The being was hunched over and Jim couldn’t see a face, but there was something familiar about the outline.  Suddenly, the figure turned its head.  It was the Angel._

_Jim stepped back against the wall; afraid his breathing would alert her to their presence.  Spock looked at him curiously and stepped around him.  He gasped silently when he too, recognized her, not as the Angel, but as Francis Kinnaman._

_She raised her head and turned toward them.  A low melodic voice disturbed the silence.  “Come in boys, don’t lurk about.  I need your help.”_

_Stepping into the room, Jim snorted derisively.  “We are the last people to help you.”_

_The light caught her smile.  “Exactly, you are the last people and if you want to understand, you will do what I tell you to do.”_

_\--_

Jim stretched; surprised he’d fallen asleep.  He checked the time and noted he’d only been asleep for about an hour.  The rest had helped clear his head and he quickly ticked off what he needed to do in order to catch the Angel at her game.  First, he had to check on Spock.  He walked to his COMM and opened a channel to Sick Bay.  McCoy’s voice was rough but reassuring when he answered.

 

“He’s stable.  Stop bothering me.”  McCoy closed the communication abruptly leaving Jim feeling both amused and annoyed.  That left one more thing; check Spock’s computer.  Jim knew better than to try to access it from his terminal, even with Spock’s passwords and codes.  He changed his uniform tunic and walked through their adjoining bathroom. 

 

The figure looming over the keyboard wasn’t Spock, of course.  As the Angel turned around, just as surprised as Jim, he reached reflexively for a phaser, which wasn’t there.  She shook her head and tisked but Jim could see alarm in her eyes.  She hadn’t planned on being interrupted, especially by him.

 

“Captain, your timing is excellent.  Commander Spock’s research is locked up tight.  I will need his codes, now, if you will.”

 

Jim stood very still.  The Angel was very dangerous and if she believed she might still have the upper hand, he’d do well to wait for her to make the first move.

 

“No.”

 

“No?”  The Angel stood and stepped out of the shadows, something metallic in her hand catching the dim light in Spock’s cabin.  “I think you will.”

 

Jim backed away before he even realized he was doing it.  Traces of his nightmare teased the corners of his mind, confusing him.  Suddenly, he was a boy again schooled to obey her and the other adults in the Colony.  His body tensed and his stomach roiled with fear.  Jim felt compelled to do as she asked, the consequences of resisting her too horrible to imagine.

 

The Angel smiled and stepped closer, the glint in her eyes telling him she had seen his weakness and would force Jim’s obedience.  Jim dropped his head, shame and fear washing through him.

 

Her voice was gentle.  “Jim, it is for your own good.  If you give me the codes, your punishment will be easier.  You used to enjoy it, don’t you remember?”

 

Jim stared at the floor, something heavy twisting his gut.  He had enjoyed it.  He’d deserved punishment and taken pleasure from it.   Or had he?  What Kodos had done to him in that tiny cell wasn’t pleasure; it had been humiliating and painful.  The only pleasure had been when his keepers had come afterward, rewarding him with food and water.  It had been the only time they fed him and after a few weeks, Jim had been conditioned to tolerate more and more abuse in order to have his basic needs met.

 

Something cold washed through him.  He understood, finally, that overtime,  Kodos and the Angel had brainwashed him.  Jim seethed with anger, he’d spent years hating and blaming himself for what had happened.  It had been his fault, it was always his fault.  But no more.

 

Jim’s head came up, eyes blazing.  The Angel hesitated, stopping her approach.  She’d lost control of the situation.  She raised the metallic object in her hand and pointed it at Jim.  Jim didn’t know what kind of weapon it was, but he knew it would disable him at best, kill him at worst.

 

He feinted to the right and threw himself left, hitting the floor hard as his leg swept her to the floor.  Jim was on her in a second, grasping her wrist, trying to take the weapon from her.  She was strong, far stronger than a middle-aged woman should be and Jim realized immediately that he wouldn’t be able to disarm her easily.

 

“Computer, voice activation!  Command override.  Call security to Mr. Spock’s cabin immediately!”

 

Jim suspected he had maybe a minute before they arrived and did his best to keep things at a stalemate.  As they struggled on the cabin floor, the Angel hissed and spat, her free hand raking long nails down his back.  Jim swore and grappled to capture her other hand, but she was too strong.

 

A hiss of the cabin door was a relief as he heard the security chief gasp and yell.

 

Jim pushed off her and went into a crouch.  “Stun her!  Watch out for that weapon!”

 

Chief Giotto didn’t hesitate.  He fired his phaser point blank.  The Angel stood shakily, barely showing a reaction to the blast.  Two other security guards had entered on Giotto’s heels and fired simultaneously, finally taking her off her feet.  She crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

 

Jim straightened and looked at the security team with relief.  “Take her to the Brig, security level alpha.”  Jim reached down and pried the silver weapon out of her hand.  “I want a complete rundown on what this is and where it came from.  I also want to know who and what she is.”

 

“Sir.”  Giotto and the security team removed the unconscious woman, leaving Jim alone in Spock’s cabin to survey the wreckage.  They would need to return and check the room later but for the moment, Jim was alone.

 

He sat down at Spock’s desk chair and tapped in Spock’s access codes.  He found the files he was looking for quickly and sat back to read what Spock had found out.  An hour later, when Giotto returned to check, Jim was sitting at the computer, tears on his cheeks.  Giotto said nothing and immediately called McCoy.

 

\--

 

McCoy stood over Spock’s bio-bed, noting his vitals.  He uncrossed his arms and took Spock’s narrow wrist in his hand and felt the reedy pulse.  Spock tossed his head minutely at the contact and McCoy released him, wondering who and why someone would poison him.  He had heard Jim’s theory and didn’t discount it.  If it were true, both the Admiralty and Diplomatic Corps had some explaining to do.

 

His COMM chimed.  “Doctor McCoy, please report to Mr. Spock’s cabin immediately.”  McCoy glanced back at the still figure on the bed in confusion. 

 

He muttered under his breath and responded.  “Giotto?  Is this a medical emergency? “Because Spock’s right here and . . .”

 

Giotto interrupted.  “No, sir.  But please come.”

 

\--

 

When McCoy arrived at Spock’s cabin, Giotto was outside, guarding the door as unobtrusively as possible.  McCoy gave him a hard stare as he was waved in.

 

Jim was leaning back against the back of Spock’s chair, arms crossed, one hand rubbing his forehead.  McCoy saw dried tear tracks on his face and his stomach clenched.  He’d never seen Jim cry and suspected that what ever had caused his emotionalism; it was profound.

 

McCoy cleared his throat but Jim didn’t respond until he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  Jim flinched and opened his eyes, scrubbing his face with both hands.

 

“Bones, have you looked at our prisoner yet?’

 

McCoy frowned and surveyed the wreckage of the room.  “What prisoner, Jim?  Who did this?  And why is Giotto outside standing around like a sentinel?

 

Jim pushed away from the desk and gestured for McCoy to take a seat.  The files containing Spock’s research were open and McCoy read as Jim explained.

 

“I came in here to see what Spock had come up with, to see why someone would make an attempt on  his life.  I found Francis Kinnaman instead, trying to hack his computer.  We struggled, I called security and she’s now in the Brig.  Bones, I need a full scan on her.  She’s incredibly strong, there is absolutely no way she is human.”

 

McCoy paused in his reading long enough to look up.  “Of course, the scan we did when she and the Ambassador came aboard was perfunctory at best.”  McCoy gestured at the computer screen.  “Jim, is this true?  Was she really trying to torpedo our mission to Walden’s World to drive up the price of trilithium?  The Delitri would make a fortune!”

 

“And Walden’s would be free for exploitation.  Whoever has access to it would become wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice.”  Jim cleared his throat.  “And I think she intended that it would be Kodos’s opportunity to do what he wanted.”

 

McCoy’s eyes blazed.  “Jim, there is no proof he survived the Colony!  Even Spock’s research doesn’t indicate that!”

 

“I don’t know,  Bones.  I never believed he was dead, not really.  I never saw his body.  And maybe he didn’t know her plans.  Maybe she is doing this all on her own, in her own twisted way, she thinks she is helping him.”

 

McCoy kept reading silently, pausing now and then to frown or shake his head.  When he reached the end of the file, he looked up at Jim who was standing beside him, reading over his shoulder, his hand on the back of McCoy’s chair.

 

“Jim, you know what happened on Tarsus IV wasn’t your fault.  You did nothing wrong.  You were a child, for god’s sake.”

 

“I did one thing wrong or at least I thought I did for many years.  I survived.  I survived at any cost.  But you know, Bones? I understand now.”

 

“What do you understand?”

 

“That I had no control and I am beginning to forgive myself for that.  Stupid, I know.”

 

“Not stupid.  Survivor’s guilt.”

 

“Bones, feeling guilty doesn’t make any sense.  Spock would say it is illogical.  I did things I will always regret in order to live.  But regret doesn’t equate to guilt.  I guess I finally understand I am not responsible for what happened.  Kodos and his people were.  And, it was all for profit.  How the hell can anyone destroy the lives of thousands for credits?  That’s what I don’t get.”

 

“Jim, if you figure that one out, you are light years ahead of the greatest minds in the galaxy.  Evil can’t be explained or justified.  It exists out of time.”

 

“Ah, Bones, that’s the question. Was Kodo’s evil if he believed what he was doing was right?”

 

“Was Hitler? Were any of the despots who destroyed so many lives, evil?  Of course they were, Jim.  Actions, regardless of intent, have a life all their own.  If they knowingly and willingly committed those actions, and the ramifications are evil, the actions themselves are as well.”

 

“A tautology, Bones?  You are beginning to sound like Spock.”

 

“Enough of your insults.  Let’s get you back to Sick Bay and check you out.  I’ve had enough trauma today to last a life time.”

 

Jim smiled.  Bones was right.  The best defense to all of this was to get on with life.  It was what he’d done before.   He’d do it again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, please leave a review!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! This has been very enjoyable and easy to write. I hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as I have. Please give it a review on the way out regardless!
> 
> There is a companion piece sitting on my zip drive about Kodos' trial. Keep an eye out next summer if you enjoyed this.

 

Chapter 8

 

_“I will not help you.”_

_“You will, Jim.  If you want your friend to survive.”_

_“What?  You think you can heal Spock?”_

_Spock reached over and grasped Jim’s arm.  Clearly, he didn’t want her help.  His sleeve pulled up, exposing the infection.  The Angel looked at it pointedly.  Spock shook his head._

_The Angel’s voice was soft and dangerous. “Did you think the creatures came about naturally?  Surely you realize that everything on the Colony, every action, every result, was planned from the outset.  It was biological warfare that caused the famine, to drive up the price of our crops.  Kodos would have used the profits to create a new world, a better world, designed to his specifications, filled with the kind of beings which deserved to live the gracious life he would have created.”_

_“The creatures are a side effect, if you will.  They will finish the job we started and eventually die off like their victims when their food source is exhausted.  Only the worthy will be left to begin the new age.”_

_Jim spat and tried to push Spock behind him.  “You are insane.  You murdered thousands to make a profit!  You tortured innocents for your misbegotten dream.”_

_“You are hardly an innocent, Jim.  Not now, not then.  You became what you were intended to be, a filthy whore, of no value to anyone, except for the fleeting pleasure your body offered.  You would not have been sent away by your family, you would not have been chosen otherwise.”_

_Jim vibrated with fury.  “You don’t know me, you don’t know what I have become or how I have lived my life.  I am the Captain of the Enterprise.  I have the respect of my crew, of my peers.  I have the love of a good and decent man, whose life I value above my own.  You can’t touch me anymore.  I understand what you did even if I don’t understand the twisted reasons why.  You are a ghost, a sick evil creature, a revenant.  I know what and who I am and . . .”_

_Spock’s voice was quiet but firm as he turned Jim away from the Angel to face him.  “Captain, it is over.”  He pulled up his sleeves, revealing no sign of infection.  “You understand now, you can heal, you will heal.  Jim, please, look around, the nightmare is at a close.”_

_Jim spun and saw that they were in a bare room, with no sign of the Angel. He closed his eyes, pain washing through him and passing out of him, free for the first time since he stepped into Kodos’ office._

_\--_

“She’s a Rigellian, Jim.”

 

Jim sighed and crossed his arms.  “Well, that would explain how a fifty year old woman almost bested me in a fight.”

 

“I doubt Kinnaman has seen fifty in over a half a century.  The bio scans indicate she’s over one hundred years old.  Mid-life for her species.  And she’s been augmented, too.”

 

Frowning, Jim asked, “How?”

 

“Genetically engineered; superior vision, hearing, mental capacity, strength.  It was done recently, well, in the last thirty years and the technology isn’t alien per se.”

 

“Dear god, do you think Kodos had something to do with it?” 

 

“Hard to say, but the sealed files Spock’s research unearthed indicate there were ongoing genetic research projects.  There is pretty conclusive evidence of human trials.  She would have been one of the first.”

 

Jim reached for the back of the chair and sat heavily, eyes unfocused.  McCoy slid the carafe of Romulan Ale closer to Jim’s motionless hand and pressed a button locking his office.

 

After a moment, Jim’s began to speak, his hoarse voice expressing shock with every word.

 

“She was one of his experiments.  Like my dreams about the creatures, she was changed, perverted into something that fed off of the pain of others.  But she was as much his victim as the rest of us were.  She loved him and still he did this to her.  To make her better . . . Oh, god, can you imagine it, Bones?  She must have had to agree, to the genetic engineering, to change a fundamental part of herself in order to be with him.”

 

Jim paused, pouring himself a stiff shot of the blue liquor.  “Ever since we discovered Kinnaman was the Angel, I’ve put all my hatred on her.  Now, I find I can’t hate her anymore.  I ask myself, what would I have done?  What would I do even now if I loved someone that deeply?”

 

“Well, Jim, I doubt you’d change your genetic composition, kill and torture innocents, all for a man that was certifiably insane!”

 

“No, but don’t we change ourselves for someone we love, sometimes into something or someone unrecognizable?”

 

“We aren’t talking about Kodos and Kinnaman any more, are we?”

 

“No, Bones, we’re not.  Somehow, I’m going to have to explain this to Spock, and make it right.  I don’t know where to start.”

 

“You love him.  You’ll find a way.”

 

“I’d better.  And soon.”

 

\--

 

Spock’s recovery from the poison was slow.  Once he was conscious and his life signs stabilized, he managed to negotiate, with a combination of wheedling and threats, a return to his cabin and very light duty.  His responsibilities rarely included interaction with his Captain, and that by COMM.  If he hoped for a personal visit from Jim, he would have been disappointed.  Being who he was, he had no expectations.

 

Spock lay on his bunk, hands folded in a meditative pose, eyes focused on the ceiling while his mind focused inward.  Francis Kinnaman was gone, insane and incarcerated on some planetary penal colony, a ghost who had finally been laid to rest.

 

_The Enterprise_ had been sent on to her next mission in the Sigma Draconis system.  Walden’s Planet was yet unexplored while Star Fleet and the Diplomatic Corps were under scrutiny.  Ambassador Renn and Admiral Salvatore were likely to be seeking alternative careers.

 

Spock knew Jim’s nightmares about Tarsus IV had ceased. His dream, when he finally, logically, attributed blame and responsibility onto Kodos, became the tipping point.  He sensed a renewed confidence from Jim but there was also an edge of anxiety.  Spock suspected he knew the cause.

 

The last time they had been alone had been difficult.  Spock understood that Jim’s actions weren’t rape; they were a product of unbelievable pain and rage.  Spock had allowed the encounter only because he thought it would be cathartic for Jim.

 

Perhaps Jim didn’t share that view.  His continued absence suggested Jim felt guilty at best or was reevaluating their relationship at worst. Spock closed his eyes, his fingers tightening on each other.  He was unwilling to give up their personal relationship.  If he had to, he would attempt to change, to engage Jim emotionally.  The concept was foreign to him and he suspected would be strange for any unbonded pair.  But Jim was everything.  If he had to bond with him to do it, he would lash Jim as tightly to himself as he could.

 

Assuming Jim still wanted him.  Spock turned over Jim’s version of him in the nightmares.  The dreams were direct access to his subconscious. How Jim had felt about him in the dreams revealed how he felt about him in life. 

 

Jim had been protective of Spock.  He had wanted him by his side at all times.   Jim had been ready to fight the Angel for him, who represented all his demons.  This indicated he would want to continue their relationship.  Unless . . .

 

It was possible being with Spock was too difficult now.  Only in Jim’s broken state could they be together.  Now that Jim was healing, his needs might be different.  He might not wish to settle for being with an unemotional lover, no matter how ardent their affair was, Spock might no longer be enough for his passionate and emotional Captain.

 

Spock sighed.  He would know what Jim wanted when Jim told him.  _Kadith_.

 

\--

 

“How’s Spock doing?”

 

“Don’t you know, Jim?”

 

Jim looked away from McCoy’s piercing gaze and moved his salad around on his plate.  McCoy would have said he was nervous but Jim was never nervous.  Angry, curious, depressed, endlessly energetic, but never nervous.  His instincts went on full alert.

 

“Jim?  What’s going on? Talk you your old country doctor.”

 

Jim studied his meal, which like every other for the last two weeks, tasted like cardboard.  Finally, he looked up.

 

“I haven’t actually seen him.  We’ve COMMed regarding duty rosters but that’s the extent of it.”

 

“Why?”  McCoy instantly lowered his voice when he noticed some of the crew glance over at them.  “Why haven’t you seen him?  Good God, man, it’s been two weeks.  He’s ready to go back to duty.  I can’t believe you haven’t at least visited your First Officer!”

 

“Bones, it’s complicated.”

 

“It isn’t.  He’s your First, your friend, and the man you love unless one of those things has changed very recently.”

 

“Maybe they have changed.  I don’t know.  Bones, before this all happened, I hurt him, very badly.  I can’t face him.”

 

“Never pegged you for a coward, Jim.”

 

Jim pushed his plate away and looked McCoy straight in the eye.

 

“Some things are unforgivable.”

 

“I don’t believe that.  Spock doesn’t either.  I don’t think there is anything you could do that he wouldn’t forgive or at least find an ironclad excuse for.  In any case, unless you are planning to transfer him off the _Enterprise_ , you better start mending fences.  You can’t work together without communicating.”

 

“I know, Bones.  I’ve been trying to work up the courage to face him.  He’s on Alpha shift tomorrow.  I’ve run out of time.”

 

“No time like the present, Jim.  If I were you, I’d high tail it over to his cabin and start a dialogue.  Knowing you two, you won’t get it resolved tonight but it might go a long way to getting a real conversation going.  Now, git!”  McCoy made shooing motions with his hands and Jim stood and smiled ruefully.

 

As he left the Mess, McCoy muttered, “Idiot,” loudly enough that several crew members smiled at their irascible doctor.

 

\--

 

From Sick Bay to Spock’s quarters wasn’t much of a distance.  It could be walked briskly in less than three minutes.  The halls seemed endless this evening, long and cold.  Jim hardly saw the crew as he passed them, barely giving them a nod.  His stomach was clenched; anxiety crawled over his skin like insects. He was beginning to get a migraine.

 

Before he consigned himself to Sick Bay, he came to a stop before Spock’s cabin and took a deep breath before buzzing for entry.  If Spock didn’t take him back, couldn’t forgive him, it would fundamentally change him.  Jim knew there was something about the two of them together, destiny or providence, he didn’t know, but they were meant to continue this journey on or off the _Enterprise_ , as one.

 

Jim buzzed for entry, noting a slight tremor in his hand.  Spock’s cabin opened automatically to a warm dark room, lit with candles, scented with incense and the distinctive smell Jim had come to associate with Spock.  It took Jim a moment to pick out Spock, sitting on his bed, deep in the shadows, his dark meditation robe rendering him almost invisible.  Jim saw only the crown of his bowed head and for a moment, he was swamped with sadness.  Spock seemed so alone and fragile wrapped in his Vulcan trappings.

 

Spock’s head came up slowly, deep-set eyes looking straight at Jim.  Jim imagined relief on his face and then it was gone.  Spock made to stand but as Jim stepped farther into the cabin, the door hissing closed behind him; he motioned for Spock to sit.  Spock obeyed and Jim was reminded, he always did.

 

“Captain.”  Spock’s greeting held no question, just an acknowledgment of Jim’s presence.

 

Jim stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of Spock then sank to his knees.

 

“I have so much to say to you but I don’t know where to begin.”

 

“Then, begin at the beginning.”

 

So, Jim began to speak.  He started with how he had come to be at Tarsus IV, his relief to be away from tensions at home in Iowa.  He described his exhilaration at being a valuable member of the community and his Uncle’s family, his pride in his seemingly minor accomplishments.  Jim didn’t gloss over the horror of the famine, the death and disease he witnessed, the grief of watching friends and family die, his terror during the food riots. 

 

He described in detail what Kodos had done to him and how he felt; dirty, worthless, his disgust with himself for valuing food and water over self-respect.  When he was rescued, he was ashamed that he could talk about what happened, could testify against Kodos.  None of the other survivors could.  He alone seemed almost untouched by what had happened, as if he’d taken it in stride, as if he expected it to happen, as if he deserved it.

 

Jim talked about returning home and burying the memories deep.  Ever the good son, he excelled at everything he did, won every contest, aced every exam.  His father tried to talk to him about overcompensating, about trying to be perfect.  Jim knew that if he were perfect, every minute of every day, he’d be unassailable.

 

As time went on, although he never lost his streak of perfectionism, he learned that he couldn’t control every aspect of his life.  Star Fleet taught him that, a lesson learned over and over.  But Jim never let himself lose, never compromised.  He would try to win at any cost.

 

Finally, Jim wound down like a clock.  He dropped his head and they sat in the dark room, candles flickering, silence thick between them.

 

Spock had no words for Jim, nothing he could say to comfort him.  He also couldn’t express how honored he was that Jim would finally share this secret pain with him.  Being part of the nightmares had been a bit like being a voyeur.  Spock hadn’t been sure Jim was really aware that he was conscious while in the dream.

 

Now Jim had offered up the darkest place of himself, had willing shared his greatest weakness.  No matter how the rest of the conversation proceeded, this was to be treasured always.

 

Spock reached for Jim’s hands and rubbed his thumbs gently over the backs of his fingers.  Jim raised his head, his eyes huge and bright in the dim cabin.  Spock pulled him into his arms, his knees folding around Jim’s torso and held him tightly.  Jim made a muffled sound, buried in Spock’s shoulder and Spock shifted him even closer.

 

After a moment, Jim turned his head and pressed his lips against Spock’s, a kiss so gentle and tender that any doubts Spock had about Jim disappeared.  Spock deepened the kiss, knowing they had one more hurdle to overcome and Jim would have to be absolutely confident that Spock was willing.

 

And Spock was willing.  His body responded to Jim’s mouth and caresses like they had never been apart.  He let his passion soar as he rarely did.  Jim must know he wasn’t afraid of him, wasn’t repulsed by him.

 

Jim found himself draped across Spock on the narrow bed, his lover’s hands frantically pulling his uniform off to the side, reaching for skin and more skin.  Jim felt himself light up, no slow arousal, just a cascade of fire along his nerves as Spock touched him everywhere, pulling his own robes aside to bring them closer yet.

 

Jim stopped thinking, he was simply responding out of instinct and desire.  He wanted to bury himself in Spock and yet he couldn’t.  Jim rubbed frantically up and down Spock’s body, stopping to rub Spock’s scent on his face and chest, but it wasn’t enough.

 

Spock grasped Jim’s cock with a slippery hand, pumping in rhythm while his tongue touched every surface of skin.  His long fingers played him like music and Jim gasped, trying not to fall over the edge. 

 

Spock was ready for him though.  Jim found himself bending over Spock’s long back, his cock pressing inside.  He was hot and tight, tighter when he flexed his muscles, reflected in his back and loins.  It was a beautiful sight and Jim took scant time to admire it before he began to thrust.  Jim reached around and grasped Spock’s member and they began a dance, old as time until Spock moaned and came over Jim’s fist.  Jim continued to thrust and Spock pushed back until Jim joined him, gratefully collapsing onto his back.

 

Spock’s knees gave way and they collapsed in a heap on the bed, Spock with a grunt, Jim with a chuckle.  Jim turned Spock so they were chest to chest and wrapped himself around him like a python, nose buried in his shoulder.  When Jim started to laugh, Spock raised his eyebrow even though it couldn’t be seen.

 

“What precisely is amusing about this situation, Jim?”

 

Jim laughed harder and tried to breathe.

 

“Truly, I would like to know.”

 

“I’m just so damned happy.  Happy to be with you.  Happy you are alive and well.   Happy you are willing to be with me.  Just . . . happy.”

Spock heard sniffling and suspected this might be a case of laughing through tears, which he’d heard about but never witnessed.  Being the cautious scientist he was, he pried Jim’s head off his shoulder and pressed their foreheads together.

 

“Although the term happy is somewhat illogical and imprecise, I will admit to a similar emotion.”

 

Jim responded in an awed whisper, “I make you happy?”

 

“Jim, do not be ridiculous.  But I am . . . pleased to renew our relationship.”

 

“Spock, I have to . . .”

 

“You have to do nothing, Jim.  Let it rest, let us be at peace.  The truth between us will out, in time.  I believe we must let what is between us grow.  I have no doubt that it is worth while.” 

 

“When did you start giving relationship advice?”

 

“About the time you stepped aboard the _Enterprise_.”

 

“God, I love you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

Later, when they slipped into dreams, locked around each other, there were no shadows, no ghosts, no creatures to haunt them.  Whatever nightmares might come in the future would be of their own making, their own experiences.  There would be pain but also love and deep contentment. And if Jim dreamed of a glass wall and their hands pressed against it, well, that is a story for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment.


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